


i bear the gift of love

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Ferdibert, Mistletoe shenanigans, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, White Heron Ball, mentioned claude/petra, mentioned ingrid/leonie, minor ashe/dedue, minor dimitri/marianne, minor dorothea/edelgard, minor felix/annette, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: Claude and Hilda have aplanfor the White Heron Ball. Sylvain maybe hijacks it and makes it his own. Pranking people with mistletoe is all in good fun, right?~~~Sylvain Week Christmas Prelude, Day 2: Mistletoe
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sylvain Jose Gautier & Everyone, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: Sylvain Week Christmas Prelude 2019





	i bear the gift of love

Claude and Hilda are conspiring, their heads ducked together in an excited whisper, conveniently oblivious to the world as Sylvain sidles up behind them.

“Hel _lo_ , my lovely Deer friends, what are we up to this fine day?”

Claude grins expansively, arm rising to slap Sylvain on the back. 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Ugh, of course it’s you.”

Claude chuckles. “Well, deer-adjacent Sylvain, we were thinking we could have a little fun at the ball this month. Have you ever heard of mistletoe?”

Sylvain frowns. The word sounds familiar, but— “Possibly, darling Claude. Tell me more.” 

“But of course, my friend!”

Hilda scoffs, interrupting Claude as he winds up. “Could you two knock it off already? Your flirting’s going to put me off my dinner again.”

They ignore her.

Claude continues: 

“It’s a winter plant from Albinea, with bright red berries. Apparently there are certain _romantic_ connotations of people caught under a sprig of the thing; two people caught under it are expected to kiss. It’s even said that couples who kiss under mistletoe are bound to have enduring love, though that honestly sounds a little speculative to me.” Claude wrinkles his nose. Sylvain can relate. A plant that grants everlasting, happy romance? Yeah, right.

“Anyway, in the spirit of the holidays and spreading a little love, we were planning some… ball-related activities. Not every couple gets a turn at the Goddess Tower, you know, and some of them just need that little push to get there. That’s where we come in.”

“Sounds like a brilliant idea.” Sylvain’s smirk matches Claude’s. “Just one question: where are you intending to get this… mistletoe, was it?”

Claude laughs. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve got my means.”

Sylvain nods soberly. Claude does always have his means. 

Hilda whines loudly, demanding that they pay her back for the mental damage of their antics.

They ignore her again.

“So, are we just, what, hanging it up around the hall and hoping some couples stumble underneath it? Using magic to attach it to particular students?”

Claude shrugs. “I’d like to be a little more particular, you know, giving the _right_ people the push they need. But, unfortunately, Reason’s not one of my strengths, so I don't have that magic touch to make things up on the fly. I’ll take what I can get, I guess. We honestly hadn’t quite gotten that far in the plan. Hilda here got a little sidetracked talking about ol’ Holst and his letters again.”

This plot writes itself, honestly. “Well, dear Claude, you’re in luck. Just leave the target-finding to me. You just worry about getting that Albinean mistletoe.”

* * *

The White Heron Cup comes and goes, Dorothea’s win surprising exactly nobody. Annette and Lorenz make a good showing, but Annie’s eternal clumsiness and Lorenz’s lack of true sensuality do them no favors. Sylvain claps along, cheering for his classmate as she curtsies at the end of the competition. 

(Beside him, Felix looks spellbound, his eyes tracking Annie’s every wrist flourish and head tilt. Sylvain grins to himself. That’s one victim for Claude’s scheme, if he comes through on the mistletoe. Felix deserves a bit of light in life, and if Annette’s the one to ease the tension in his shoulders, Sylvain’s a good enough friend to help him find that happiness.

Across the hall, Edelgard sports a surprisingly soft smile as she congratulates Dorothea on her victory. Sylvain hadn’t known her face could even do that.)

* * *

But. Go back.

There’s the incredibly important question of getting _only_ the right people. But also, _all_ the right people. 

(He’ll let Claude or Hilda take care of spreading the rumors about mistletoe in preparation for the ball. Sylvain’s only one man, after all, and planning this event is a burden they all share. It’ll be suspicious if he’s the one telling people about kissing under the mistletoe and also catching them there later. Hell, it’ll still draw a few raised brows, because people are unfair and far too dubious of Sylvain’s intentions. He wants the best for his friends and classmates. Really. Any entertainment value is secondary.)

Not that it wouldn’t be funny trapping Ingrid with Lorenz or Hubert, but Sylvain’s a magnanimous soul, ready to bear the gift of true love. A regular Christmas cupid.

Some couples are obvious. Like, _really_ obvious. 

He’s seen the way Ashe and Dedue are drawn to each other, seen the way they spend so much of their free time together in the kitchens or the greenhouse, working in perfect tandem, their harmony effortless and natural as breathing. Putting their cooking together is probably the best idea Sylvain’s had in a long time. 

And then there are Hubert and Ferdinand. There’s questionable danger in trying to set those two up, but their tension is palpable even from the next classroom over with no direct line of sight. Sylvain’s seen them take tea together (or… tea and coffee, he supposes, based on the sludge he’s spotted in Hubert’s cup); their barbed compliments and bad flirting are… something else. Maybe he should offer lessons in how to go on dates alongside the mistletoe.

That’s not even to mention Sylvain’s hopeless childhood friends.

Dimitri’s been sighing stupidly after Marianne for weeks now. Something about meeting someone who understands the torment of his soul? Honestly, those are words he would have expected from Felix, not His Highness, but whatever. Sylvain’s the kind of man to help his future king get the girl of his dreams.

Speaking of which, Felix. Sylvain can’t believe he’d missed all the signs of baby’s first crush. It’s pretty endearing how Felix goes out of his way to do nice things for Annette, and actually hilarious that Annette gets offended by every single one of them. Annie, for her part, still hasn’t forgiven Sylvain for scoring better than her in the last Reason exam, but maybe she’ll let it go if he gives them a push in the right direction so she and Felix can figure themselves out.

And, uh… Ingrid. Sylvain’s not quite sure if the _thing_ that Ingrid has with Leonie is sexual tension or not. They’re both scary women who can beat his ass, no problem, and they get along way too well for his liking. Ingrid had said something about Sylvain’s latest date during a sparring session and Leonie had just nodded along like she already knew. Which. Rude. Anyhow, he’d love to help Ingy out, but, you know, maybe at the end of the night if there’s time? He’s really not in a rush to be punched during the ball.

And if Sylvain’s lending a helping hand to Dimitri, he can extend the same courtesy to the other house leaders, no extra charge. Claude might accuse him of backstabbing and Edelgard will likely want him expelled or beheaded for treason, but it’ll be fine. Everything will be _fine_. 

They could all do to relax a bit. They’re all way too tightly wound, even Claude, as much as he pretends to be carefree. They need to enjoy life, smell the roses. Stop and have a little _fun_. Yeah, that kind of fun. They’ll thank him later. 

Anyway, in Edelgard’s case, Dorothea always plays coy whenever he asks about her latest love interest. But he’s seen the way Edelgard stares at ’Thea’s ass and tits. Hell, he’s stared his fair share too. They’re certainly assets worthy of appreciation, though neither of those two (or Hubert, actually—Edelgard’s toady really is omnipresent in her affairs) need to worry about that. There’s no harm in just looking, and if Dorothea’s a taken woman, Sylvain knows to back off.

Last but most definitely not least, his fellow holiday cupid. Claude’s not as subtle as he thinks he is. Sylvain’s seen the way he almost _dotes_ on Petra, the way he loses the ability to craft clever schemes when she’s around, prone to doing weird things like trying (and failing) to sleep in trees and devouring books on hunting as though he can learn the skill through sheer force of will and inhaling texts on the subject. To be fair, it’s not clear if Petra _likes_ him or just likes him as something like a big brother, but Sylvain’s here to help his man. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. Or something, right? Claude would know better, he’s the archer.

So. Those are the poor, unfortunate souls that Sylvain wants to help. He’s sure Claude will (mostly) approve. 

Sylvain’s going to be busy. No worries, though. He’ll still find a way to sneak in a dance or two with all the lovely, dolled-up ladies at the ball.

* * *

“How’s it going?” Sylvain asks, dropping down next to Claude and Hilda in the dining hall. “Any luck on that mistletoe?”

Claude raises an eyebrow. Sylvain shrugs. There’s honestly pretty minimal risk for talking about this publicly. Most people are just too used to letting the words that come of Sylvain’s mouth wash over them like a swarm of locusts: with disgust and the desire to forget it happened as quickly as possible.

“I’ve got a few branches in my room.”

Sylvain slaps him on the back. “Nice! I’ll stop by later.”

“Y’know, Sylvain. This _was_ our idea first. A little rude of you to just hijack it,” Hilda chimes in, chewing thoughtfully around her saghert and cream.

“Whoa, whoa! I’m not here to steal your thunder. I just want to help out. You know, taking care of some of the preparations and handling.”

Hilda snorts. “Sure. You’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart. And I’m the monastery’s most hard-working girl.”

Claude looks at him. “You _have_ been weirdly secretive, and I’m not going to pretend I haven’t seen you smirking at me when I’m not looking,” Claude says. “If you’re planning something for me, I’d advise you to not to. Wouldn’t want any bad blood between us, right?”

“Duly noted,” Sylvain says.

His mouth drops into a pout. “Honestly, I’m letting you guys have your fun at the ball _and_ see some mistletoe hijinks, and this is the thanks I get?” 

“I’ll see it when I believe it.” Hilda rolls her eyes. 

Claude offers him a one-armed shrug.

“Oh, c’mon, give me a chance to have some fun here. It won’t hurt.”

They stare at him, gazes flat.

Sylvain sighs dramatically. His new friends are just as heartless as his old ones.

* * *

Sylvain has five minutes to set these sprigs up in the reception hall before everyone starts streaming in through those doors. He’d only barely managed to sneak in. He’ll thank Claude for the poison distraction later. And uh, maybe apologize to Lorenz for needing him as said distraction, though this does give him a leg up in their competition, and, of course, all’s fair in love and war.

There are a few corners to the hall that will do nicely for quiet rendezvous, and one stretch of wall that Sylvain’s willing to bet gold Felix will be leaning against within an hour with a look of disgust on his face. 

After a few failed attempts to carefully direct wind magic to hover the mistletoe in out-of-sight locations, he gives up. He _thought_ he’d practiced his Reason enough for this, but his specialty is fire magic, not wind, so his control’s a little sloppy, and he’s just not good enough to hold multiple spells at once. He can already hear Annette and Lysithea chiding him for slacking on practicing casting because theory is easy. Which. The theory _is_ easy, and that’s not his fault, so Felix should stop zapping him with _Thunder_ every time he gets something right in those lessons.

Well, whatever. He’ll just wing it. He has enough control that he’ll be able to at least get it vaguely pass over people’s heads. 

Hopefully Claude and Hilda have done their job and informed people about “the legends of mistletoe” or whatever the hell they’re calling it. They really _should_ be grateful that Sylvain’s running point for tonight. Scheming aside, Hilda’s been gushing about doing her and Lysithea’s makeup, and Claude _definitely_ has a list of people he wants to dance with before the night is over. Sylvain likes dancing, but he’s been to enough balls that one night of other fun won’t kill him.

Sylvain ducks out of the far door towards the cathedral, throwing a sheepish grin to the Knight stationed there. He sends her a quick wave and a laugh as he turns and darts around toward the classrooms. Hopefully, Felix or Ingrid will be nearby and he’ll be able to hide in the crowd as the students pour into the hall.

Ingrid shoots him an odd look when he catches her by the Blue Lions classroom. “Where are you coming from?” She pauses and blinks, face turning stern. “You’d better not have been off with some girl. Haven’t you had enough already? I just had to apologize to another girl yesterday for you.”

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, I promise, I was behaving!” Sylvain gestures placatingly. “I just had a small errand to run, and no, there were no girls involved.” He thinks. “Well, maybe one, but it’s Hilda, so—”

He stops. Right, no giving up the game.

Ingrid crosses her arms. “I know Hilda can take care of herself, but I’m still going to warn you against getting involved and breaking her heart.”

“No! It’s not like that. No flirting, no romance, no nothing.” He laughs. “She wouldn’t have me anyway.” 

Ingrid sighs heavily, letting the tiredness of her stare weigh into him. “If you say so, Sylvain. Just. Please don’t make me have to clean up your messes tonight, too? I’d like to be able to enjoy myself.”

He can’t promise that there won’t be any messes, but certainly not ones in the way Ingrid’s thinking of, so: “Cross my heart. I won’t screw around with girls tonight.”

She rolls her eyes affectionately.

They make their way in, buffeted by the hoard of students. The inside of the hall is the same as it was five minutes ago, when Sylvain was last here, the tables mysteriously gone and the hall brightly lit for once, tables laden with finger food and champagne lining one wall, most of the space dedicated as a dance floor. The seats for the chamber orchestra, before empty and disarrayed in one corner of the hall, now stand filled with musicians watching hawk-eyed for their cue.

Sylvain quickly ambles over to the drinks. He doesn’t need the liquid courage, but it won’t hurt. Everything’s more fun with a light buzz.

* * *

Right on cue, Felix is in place, leaning against the wall and projecting irritation and chagrin that he’s even here, angrily chomping on a meat skewer. There’s a faint _whoosh_ of magic as Sylvain floats one of the sprigs over his head.

Across the hall, Sylvain quietly walks up and taps Annette on her shoulder. She jumps, batting at his hand.

“AHH! Ghosties in the—!” She blinks. “Oh, Sylvain. It’s just you. What do you want?”

He winks. “I was just thinking, you looked great up there dancing in front of everyone earlier this week.”

“Oh thank you! I’m still bummed that I didn’t win, but it was a lot of fun. It’s sad that I won’t get to dance for our class in the future, but—!” 

She pauses, struck by some thought.

“Wait.” She squints at him suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, of course not!”

She raises her eyebrows. “I tripped. Twice.”

“And it was cute and charming! You were really quite the sight, Annie, let me tell you.”

That earns him a laugh. Sylvain beams down at her beatifically.

She sighs, smiling at him tiredly. “What do you want, Sylvain? Stop buttering me up.”

Sylvain’s grin stretches, all devious humor and teasing. “You know who else thought you looked great up there? Felix.”

“What? No he didn’t. He came to mock my dancing afterward!”

Sylvain slaps a hand to his face. Good job, Felix. Always the wordsmith, huh? “I’m sure he was just being… Felix. Trust me, he was enthralled by your dancing.”

“If you say so.”

“You should ask him to dance with you! Goddess knows he’s just going to stand over there and stew otherwise.”

Annette giggles. “That’s true.” She fidgets with her hands. Sylvain watches the wheels turn in her head, his eyes carefully pleading. “Ohh—! All right. Here, hold my drink.”

He winks again, taking her glass with one hand as he gives her a gentle push with another. Sylvain’s eyes track her as she pushes her way around the hall, coming to a halt in front of Felix. She rocks back and forth on her heels.

 _It’s go time_.

Sylvain releases the spell holding the mistletoe, letting it crash into Felix’s forehead. 

He’s in _so_ much trouble later when Claude tattles on him, but the look on Felix’s face is worth it. 

They both peer at the mysterious plant on the floor. Comprehension dawns on Annette’s face as she stares at it. She whirls around accusingly, glaring at Sylvain. 

Her eyes find his and he offers a hapless shrug. Everything in her stature radiates bloody murder, and Felix is looking up now as well, tracking her line of sight to— 

Sylvain quickly turns, busily making his way back to the food. Nope, definitely nothing to look at, Felix and Annette. In his peripherals, he can see Annette shake her head and turn back to Felix. She lightly tugs on his arm and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Felix flushes bright red, spluttering as Annette laughs. The noise in the hall is too great for the sound to carry, but Sylvain imagines it, light, airy, and musical. It’s angelic and it heralds Felix’s heart to sing.

Something in the pit of Sylvain’s stomach drops. He doesn’t think about it, quickly throwing back the rest of Annette’s drink in his hand.

One couple down.

Holding back a grimace, Sylvain asks the next girl he sees to a dance. He can’t remember if he’s ever gone on a date with her before.

* * *

Ashe looks Sylvain up and down nervously as he approaches, arms open and grin plastered. 

“Ashe! Buddy!”

“H-hello, Sylvain.”

He flinches as Sylvain places a warm, caring, _not-at-all-threatening-why-are-you-scared-Ashe_ hand on his shoulder. “So. I was thinking—”

“Oh no.”

Sylvain lets that slide.

“I was _thinking_ that the spirit of the White Heron Ball is to dance with the people most important to you, right? Right.”

“…Sure.”

“And you know who I think could use a dance with the people important to him? Dedue.”

Sylvain’s definitely not imagining the faint pink tinge on Ashe’s cheeks. It really brings out his freckles and dimples. Adorable. And predictable.

“I-I’m not sure what you’re getting at Sylvain. If you’re trying to help get D-dedue to dance, I don’t see what that has to do with me.” He chuckles nervously.

Sylvain eyes him critically, taking a slow sip from his glass. What’s the best plan of action here? 

Ashe blinks, horror dawning over his expression. “Oh no, oh _no_. Sylvain, please, _please_ tell me you’re not asking for my help in getting Dedue to dance with you.” He shakes Sylvain slightly by the arm. “I’m willing to give you a hand with a lot of things, but not if you’re going to hurt our friends!”

Sylvain almost spits his drink into Ashe’s face. It’s a very near thing. “ _What_. Why would you think that I’m trying to hit on Dedue?”

Ashe touches his chin. “I mean, every time you ask for my help, it’s because you want something to do with some conquest of yours.”

“I—Okay, you’re not wrong, but. No. _No_. I mean, Dedue’s great, but _no_.”

“To think, Sylvain, you’d stoop this low.” Ashe continues as though Sylvain hadn’t spoken, looking at him mournfully. “Of all people, Dedue. Have you no decency?”

“Ashe! I am not trying—”

“I really should have listened when His Highness warned me to—”

“—to pick up Dedue—”

“—be more careful around you—”

“—I mean, yeah, he’s a great guy, and quiet, big, and mysterious is some people’s type—”

“—and to help reign in your bad behavior. Oh! I should have listened.” Ashe shakes his head.

“Seiros's tits, Ashe!” Sylvain’s almost yelling now. Ashe freezes, clearly caught off guard by the outburst. “I am _not_ trying to flirt with Dedue.” Sylvain buries his face in a hand. “Look. I’ve seen the way you and Dedue look at each other, and I’m just trying to help you guys out. Y’know, in the warm, holiday spirit of finding romance?”

“You _what_?” Ashe gapes at him. “Oh no. No, no—that’s even worse!”

“Me trying to help you is worse?” Sylvain really doesn’t get it. “How is that worse?”

“I mean…” Ashe trails off. Sylvain stares at him. “It’s not worse for Dedue than you trying to flirt with him, but you’re wrong about us. Dedue’s just a very nice person. There’s nothing special between us.”

Sylvain continues staring. 

Ashe is bright red now, stammering over his words. “And anyway! He’s dedicated his life to His Highness. I can’t possibly get between them, that would be horribly rude of me. I—uh, I asked Dedue once about his future, and he said that it’s by His Highness’s side.”

Sylvain grips his shoulder. “Hey, man, I’m just saying you should ask for one dance, not his hand in marriage. Though, if you guys do get married—” Out of nowhere, an elbow ends up in Sylvain’s gut. “ _Oof_. Okay, nothing about marriage. Just one dance.”

“No!”

“It’s the White Heron Ball! It’s what tonight is for.”

“I—okay, but I don’t know how to dance like you nobles!”

“Nah, I’m sure you’ll be fine, most of the people here don’t know how to dance either.”

“Please, _please_ , Sylvain, I’m begging you. Drop it.”

“Sure!” Sylvain brightens. “If you go talk to him.”

“And don’t bring it up again in the future.”

“Cross my heart.”

Ashe sighs. “I’m going to regret trusting you.”

Sylvain makes a small shooing gesture.

“All right, all right.”

Ashe slips away, shoulders hunched. He’s muttering under his breath, probably something about questioning life choices and letting himself be talked into stupid things by Sylvain. Honestly, it’s a talent. Both parts are: Sylvain talking Ashe into things and Ashe getting roped into Sylvain’s messes. The Blue Lions are a very talented bunch.

Carefully, quietly, very surreptitiously ( _Ingrid stop looking this way_ ) Sylvain levitates a branch of mistletoe over Dedue’s head. He slowly lowers it as Ashe approaches. It maybe wobbles once or twice, but it’s fine, see? He hasn’t dropped it.

Just as Ashe is tapping Dedue on the arm, the mistletoe reaches the perfect level to tickle Dedue’s ear. Which it does as he’s turning. He swats at it and it falls out of the air. 

One more _Wind_ spell letter, it’s floating again, and Ashe is glaring at him from across the room. Dedue is staring at the plant. Probably because it’s foreign?

Sylvain shoots Ashe a thumbs up.

Ashe rubs his temples briefly before lightly grabbing Dedue’s arm again and offering a light, awkward bow. There’s probably an apology somewhere in there.

Sylvain barely holds himself back from whooping with glee as Ashe leans up on tiptoe to press a quick peck to Dedue’s lips.

They’re both blushing as Ashe pulls back, but then Dedue takes Ashe’s hand and offers him a bow in return.

See? Easy.

* * *

Apparently, Hilda has the same idea as he does about Claude. Sylvain can see her pushing him toward Petra, definitely not hiding a mistletoe behind her back. 

She looks tiny but she’s manhandling Claude one-handed like he weighs nothing. Sylvain’s impressed. 

Petra looks bemused, a hand covering a polite chuckle at Claude’s wild, flailing approach.

Well, that’s one less couple to worry about.

The next dance puts a lighter step in his heart.

* * *

Sylvain slides in next to Dorothea, draping an arm over her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she looks at him like a rabid raccoon who just rolled around in the trash and tried to cuddle up to her, flinging both her hair and his arm away in a single motion. It never ceases to amaze Sylvain how attractive she is when mad at him.

“Hello, darling Dorothea, you’re looking spectacular, as always. How are you this fine night?”

“Sylvain. I’m well! Thank you for asking. You’re horrible and lecherous.” Her eyes meet his. “As always.”

“You wound me!” Sylvain brings an arm up to his chest, feigning shock. The dig stings, a little. The pain is soothed slightly by the pleasant warmth of alcohol humming in his veins. “The lovely songstress is so cruel! What would the people think!”

“They’ll think what they always have. That I’m beautiful and have a lovely voice and just another desirable jewel for their collections.”

Sylvain winces. “I… okay, I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

“But, anyway, I meant to say. Got anyone in mind? Maybe for a jaunt up to the Goddess Tower?”

Dorothea hums. “If I did, it wouldn’t be you.”

“Hey, now!” Sylvain huffs theatrically. “That’s uncalled for. I’m just a curious friend.”

“Sure, Sylvain. And I’m made of fairy dust.”

“I am! I could even lend a helping hand, if you needed..?”

Dorothea’s smirk quirks higher. She isn’t fooled by his antics. She’s never been.

Ah, well. Might as well get to the point.

“ _Well_ , it seems to me like a certain house leader has been looking at you in some kind of way, lately. I thought maybe I could give you lovely ladies a push in the right direction. Figured I’d start with you given how Hubert hangs over her shoulder.”

“Really, Sylvain?” Dorothea flicks his cheek, a sharp snap of lightning emanating from her finger. Damn, _Thunder_ really stings like a bitch every time. “I don’t need help in romance. Especially not _your_ help. Between the two of us, I’m not the one going on sex benders.”

“I— uh…” Sylvain struggles for words.

“And if you’re trying to help me and Edie… Well.” Dorothea raises a hand, waving at Edelgard. “Edie, dear!”

Edelgard spots them, blinking curiously. She cuts a strict path through the dance floor, the seas of other students parting automatically for her. From where he’s lurking in the shadows of the hall, Hubert slinks his way over too. 

“Did you need me, Dorothea?” She nods to Sylvain. “Hello, Sylvain.”

“Oh, nothing serious, Edie, darling. Just? Help me prove a point to Sylvain.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

“Lovely! Thanks, babe.”

Dorothea takes Edelgard’s hand, staring adoringly into her eyes. The only acknowledgement from the princess is a faint blush and a quiet release of tension in her shoulders. Dorothea’s smile softens briefly before she leans down and—

Just fucking _crushes_ Edelgard’s mouth against hers. There’s absolutely so space their bodies, and Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised if Seteth suddenly swooped in from nowhere to complain about inappropriate behavior. 

Sylvain isn’t sure which of them is the one that lets out a small, breathy moan, but apparently, he’s had the wrong read on this situation. Like. _So_ wrong.

Dorothea’s hand rises behind Edelgard’s back to flip Sylvain a rude hand gesture. 

Okay, yeah, he gets the point. He’ll leave them to it. No need for mistletoe cupid here.

Sylvain lets out a wolf-whistle and a barking laugh as he turns on his heel, grabbing another champagne as he goes.

* * *

Sylvin chews his lower lip, pondering the last few couples he needs to set up. 

Dimitri’s… clueless, to put it lightly. Sylvain could smack him over the head with a book about Albinean plants and he wouldn’t get the hint about mistletoe. And Marianne’s afraid of people. Or afraid of cursing people? Something. She’s got a lot going on, and Sylvain doesn’t want to make it worse for her. It’s a miracle that she’s showed up to the ball, honestly. Probably Hilda’s doing.

Ingrid, for her part, is over by the food, devouring everything in sight as though she’s found true love in the depths of the gravy boat. Leonie’s chatting with her, though, digging into some chicken thing or other. They’ll probably figure it out on their own? No need to risk getting his nose broken right now.

And. Hubert’s still looking on, sour expression and all, as Dorothea and Edelgard cuddle together in one corner of the hall, lost in their own world. Sylvain still can’t believe he missed that. 

Sylvain looks around. He’s not actually sure where Ferdinand is. He might have left early to be with his other true love: horses. The couple of times Sylvain’s talked with the other redhead, he’s heard nothing but “nobility, steeds, blah, blah, blah”. Those conversations got old really fast. 

Anyway, Sylvain’s pretty sure he saw Ferdinand in here earlier in the evening, but he’s been so preoccupied that he quickly lost track.

Sylvain sips his glass thoughtfully. How many flutes has it been now? Hmm. Someone’s probably counting, but it sure as hell isn’t Sylvain.

And then, as if choreographed by the goddess herself, Dimitri walks over to Marianne, bowing as he extends a hand to offer her a dance.

In absolute defiance of Fate, the goddess’s will, and Sylvain’s hopes and dreams, she shies away, curtsying slightly as she attempts to melt into the wall. Dimitri bows again. When he rights himself, his shoulders are sagging. 

Well, Sylvain can help. It’s what he’s here to do. He’ll have to be direct, given who he’s helping, but anything for his prince to get the girl he's been waiting for his whole life. Or something.

He waves at Dimitri.

“Your Highness!” 

“Oh, Sylvain. Can I help you?” Man, he’s got the kicked puppy look down pat. Except, wait. Sylvain isn’t the one who kicked him.

“Nope!” Sylvain says brightly. “But, I think I can help you.”

Dimitri freezes, clearly thinking about the last time Sylvain “helped” him. Which, okay, fair. Sort of. But it’s really not Sylvain’s fault Dimitri just started repeating pick-up lines to a random girl. There’s a time and place, Dima. 

“Ah. Hmm.” Dimitri clears his throat. “Thank you, for the offer, Sylvain, but I’ll have to decline if this is about romantic pursuits.” 

It is, but. “I promise, Dimitri, it’s just a helping hand.”

Dimitri regards him warily. And wearily. Honestly, all the doubt and animosity is really starting to grate on Sylvain’s nerves. He’s got his friends’ best interests at heart, why does no one believe him?

“It’s about Marianne,” Sylvain wheedles. Dimitri turns a satisfying pink color. Gotcha. 

Dimitri coughs. “What about Marianne?”

“I’ll help you get that dance! What do you say?”

“I—I don’t know, Sylvain. Forgive me, friend, but I really do not wish for you to scare her this evening. I’m sure she said no for a reason, and I do not wish to press the issue.”

“Yeah, for the reason that she feels guilty that dancing with you will give you ill fortune or something.” Sylvain hums. “But we both know that’s not true, right, Your Highness?”

“I. Well. I suppose not.” 

“So! Let your boy Sylvain give you a hand.”

“Sylvain. You are not ‘my boy’ and, while I trust you as my friend, I do not have faith in your guidance of matters of the heart.”

“I swear, Your Highness. I’m not doing anything untoward, I just want to help you and your lovely maiden.”

“I… Alright, Sylvain. I’m in your care,” Dimitri says. “Though, I will be most displeased if this hurts Marianne. Please refrain from doing so.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

In the few minutes they’ve been talking, Marianne disappeared into the crowd. Hmm. Hopefully not out of the hall. She is, unfortunately, one of the people who are likely to leave for the evening to seek out warmer company among the stables. Other than Ferdinand and Ingrid, of course.

With a bit of concentration and the power of Being Taller Than Most, Sylvain finds her again. He waves to Dimitri, leading the prince to approach his shy damsel.

“Hello, there Marianne. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Oh! Sylvain! Um. I suppose so? There are… quite a lot of people.”

“Marianne.” Dimitri bows yet again.

“O-oh… Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s expression drops at the less than enthusiastic greeting. “I apologize for bothering you again, Marianne. Sylvain insisted.”

“Of course I did!” Sylvain says. “I’m here to offer my services in asking you to dance.”

“I, uh, I—I don’t dance. I’m not any good at it, and I don’t want to hurt anyone by stepping on their toes or something.” 

Sylvain laughs. “No need to worry about that. I don’t mind some bruised toes, and Dimitri here is nothing but bruised toes, so you don’t need to worry, you won’t make it any worse for him.”

Marianne chuckles along nervously. 

Sylvain shrugs. “I can’t blame you if you don’t want to dance with me, but you should give His Highness a chance. I’ve even got a good luck charm for you guys.”

Sylvain pulls out a sprig of mistletoe, tucking it into Dimitri’s hand. 

“What do you say, Marianne? Will you do him the honor of a dance.”

“Oh, I—I don’t know… I—”

“Please Marianne,” Dimitri cuts in, finally ( _finally_ , thank the goddess) taking the situation into his own hands. “I understand if you truly do not wish to dance with me. But you need not fear anything. I am always happy to have you as you are. Your simple presence and acceptance warms my soul.”

Sylvain grins. Good for Dimitri.

“W-well. If you say it like that, I suppose one dance can’t hurt.” 

Dimitri offers his hand to her once more, and this time, she takes it. The smile that breaks over His Highness’s face is possibly the most radiant thing that Sylvain’s seen all night. He silently cheers as they make their way onto the dance floor.

* * *

Sylvain is lounging against a bit of wall (not the same wall Felix was using earlier, though Felix’s wall is vacant now) when Byleth approaches. They’ve got a bit of a tired look on their face. Being passed around between students and staff will do that to a person, Sylvain supposes.

“Hello, Professor!”

Byleth smiles, the edges of their expression beyond frayed and exhausted. “Sylvain.”

Sylvain considers whether he ought to ask them for a dance. They’ve certainly got a particular brand of beauty that he doesn’t mind saying is _quite_ aesthetically pleasing, but… Nah, his heart isn’t in it right now. 

He could use another champagne though.

“I suppose I’m surprised I haven’t encountered you in a dance yet.”

Sylvain winks. “What can I say? I’m a busy man. Though, you may want to be careful what you say, Teach, or people will start wondering if you’re flirting with your students. It wouldn’t do to give a man that kind of hope.”

“That’s true.” Byleth huffs a quiet laugh. “Though, if you did ask me to dance, I would have to say no.”

“I’m wounded, Professor. Can’t spare a dance for your favorite student?”

Byleth blinks. “You’re not my favorite.”

Sylvain snorts. “Nah, I was kidding. I know I’m not your favorite.”

Byleth waits.

“Surprise, surprise! I’m not anyone’s favorite. But. Terrible, selfish Sylvain is still here to be your local holiday cupid, spreading love and cheer! Even, I guess, if no one wants it. Especially if no one wants it.”

Sylvain can’t hold the bitter tone from creeping into his voice. Fuck, the alcohol is making him maudlin.

Byleth stares at him, frowning with just the slightest bit of concern. “I am not here to stop you. But, are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Sylvain?”

Why does everyone doubt him? He’s here to dance a little, set up some friends, and just have a good time. He’s not out to hurt any feelings or break any hearts, and that’s honestly more than he can say about most days of the week.

“I promise you, Professor, I’m having the time of my life here. Did you see His Highness’s face when Marianne held his hand? Golden.”

They sigh slightly. “I only meant, should you not be chasing your own happiness?”

A muscle in Sylvain’s jaw clenches as he forces himself to smile. “I’m fine, Professor, you don’t need to worry about me.” His eyes cast around the hall, searching for an excuse. “It was good chatting with you! You should ask someone for another dance. Or check out the Goddess Tower!” 

Byleth watches him, their eyes cryptically wide, horribly judgmental. Sylvain doesn’t need this.

Sylvain lets out a strangled laugh. “But I think I saw Mercedes, and I haven’t complimented her on her hair tonight so I’m gonna go, uh, do that.”

He quickly steps away, hoping that Byleth doesn’t follow. 

Mercedes turns at his approach, watching him quizzically as he opens and closes his mouth several times. Sylvain attempts to restart his brain, to find coherent words, but. Man, he’s wiped. He didn’t even get to dance that much, fuck.

“Mercedes! You’re lovely tonight.”

She smiles at him, closed-eyed and guileless. “Thank you, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, just—Just real lovely, you know? A sight for sore eyes.” Sylvain might be swaying slightly on his feet. Or the world might be spinning. 50-50.

“Would you like fresh air? Maybe to sit?” She gestures to the far exit, leading toward the cathedral.

Sylvain stares at her hand for a long moment, uncomprehending. “Oh—! I. Yeah. That sounds great, Mercie, thank you.”

The crisp night air is a balm against Sylvain’s face, cooling away the mixed heat of the press of bodies within the hall and the alcohol warming his blood. Mercedes stares out over the vast, quiet emptiness of the bridge. 

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it, Sylvain?”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he says automatically, complete with customary wink. 

“Oh, you,” she laughs. “Well, you clean up quite nicely yourself.”

“Aw, thanks Mercedes. Even though we’re not in the hall anymore, I’d love a dance if you’ll have me. The music’s a little faint, but it’ll do.”

“That’s quite all right. I won’t say no to a dance, but we don’t have to. It seems like there’s something else on your mind.”

“I… Please, Mercedes.” Sylvain bows. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course, Sylvain.”

She takes his hand, letting him lead her as they sway slightly.

“Did you enjoy the ball?” she asks. “I didn’t really see you dancing much.”

“The ball was great, I was just… busy.”

“Oh, trying to bring couples together with mistletoe?”

Sylvain pauses, looking down at her. Her expression is serene, but her eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief. “You got me.”

“I don’t know that it was working, really, and I can’t possibly know where you or Claude got the mistletoe from, but Annie seemed happy enough with Felix.” She hums thoughtfully. “Dorothea really didn’t seem to appreciate you trying to help her, though. You probably shouldn’t do something like this again.”

Sylvain huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I thought it would be fun—and it was, for the most part? It’s just—I’m out here helping everyone find romance, and then there’s me. Just waiting to be married off to the bidder with the best crest baby prospects.” Sylvain snorts. “Some holiday cupid.”

Mercedes considers him. “Well, I can’t say that I think you did the right thing trying to set everyone up. People find love at their own pace.”

Sylvain offers her a crooked smile. She’s right, of course.

“But I don’t think any harm came of it either,” she continues. “So if you’ve learned your lesson, I think we can let it go. But maybe you should apologize to Dorothea.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll get ’Thea a perfume or necklace the next time I’m in the market.” 

“And, Sylvain?”

“Yeah?”

“You deserve your own happiness too.” She gently brushes a hand through his bangs. “I mean, isn’t this nice? Just dancing together without someone trying to pressure you into it?”

“Yeah.” Sylvain takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Yeah, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> this really got away from me. 
> 
> you can find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)!


End file.
